


Co-Conspirators

by thewightknight



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, alcohol fueled sex, but in a wingman kind of way, plotting against your superior officers, which only works well in fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 16:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13171002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/pseuds/thewightknight
Summary: Phasma thinks if her co-commanders would just hurry up and kiss, it would solve a lot of everyone's problems. Mitaka agrees.





	Co-Conspirators

**Author's Note:**

> author note - I totally headcanon Mitaka as ripped. No artificial padding on his uniform to fill his figure out. He's one of the few officers who's continued with the fitness routine they were forced into while at the Academy. He couldn't bench press Phasma, but he could easily pick her up and sling her over a shoulder (if she'd let him).

Scurrying out of the conference room, Mitaka nearly face planted into a chromed breastplate.

“Oh, my apologies, Captain.”

“No foul, Lieutenant.”

A crash sounded through the closed door and they both jumped.

“They’re at it again.” Her whole body vibrated with exasperation.

It wasn’t phrased as a question, but Mitaka answered anyways.

“If only they’d ….” Another crash, and this time the raised voices carried into the corridor. “Fuck!” Startled, the expletive escaped and he clamped a hand over his mouth, mortified that she’d think he meant to end the sentence like that.

Phasma chuckled, and he relaxed.

“I’d be happy if they just kissed.”

It took a few moments for her words to register.

“What, you think the two of them …?” He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

“You can’t get that angry at someone so often without hormones getting involved.”

“They’ll never get on with it, though.”

“No matter how much simpler it’d make our lives, no. I don’t think they will either.”

Without warning the door shot open and Kylo Ren stomped out, shoulder-checking Mitaka into Phasma. She caught him with ease, without even a hitch in her breathing. As soon as Ren cleared the corner they both peeked into the room. The conference table lay in three pieces, edges still glowing. The room’s holoprojector bathed the ceiling in shattered blue fragments of images. And their General stood, hat askew, forehead in hand, muttering to himself. Mitaka couldn’t make out the words, but caught the gist of it. He did hear “over-sized child” for certain.

Straightening, Hux saw the two of them. Realizing how he must look, Mitaka straightened, tugging at the front of his uniform coat.

“I’ll need the total damage for this mess as soon as possible, Lieutenant. Quarterly budget summaries are due tomorrow.”

“Yes sir. I’ll have it to you within the hour.” That should leave him enough time to finish his other responsibilities and still make it to the officers’ deck in time for the weekly trivia contest. He’d won seven times in a row now and if he made it tonight he’d break the standing record.

“Captain, do you have this week’s statistics on trooper performance?”

“Of course, General. But perhaps we should review them elsewhere?”

Giving an exasperated sigh, Hux nodded. Mitaka saluted and left them to it.

With three minutes to spare, Mitaka slid into his seat in the officers' lounge, nodding at Unamo in thanks for holding it for him. As he acknowledged the various greetings and grumblings, he was surprised to see Phasma at the bar behind the table. She wore officer’s grays instead of her armor. He took a moment to appreciate how her hair shone in the soft light before the first round started. Catching his look, she raised her glass to him and took a drink.

They ran into overtime but he pulled it out in the end with an obscure fact about the _Venator_ -class star destroyers. Flush with his victory, he grinned at the congratulations and back slaps. Somehow he ended up with a drink in either hand, a ridiculous fruity concoction in his left and a tumblr of familiar amber liquid in his right. He sucked down the mixed drink to get rid of it and washed the residue down with a healthy swig from the other glass.

The Finalizer’s whiskey wasn’t bad. It wasn’t particularly good either, but since it was made onboard they all pretended to like it more than it deserved. In groups of two or three, but never to outsiders, they might mention how the particular batch they were in the process of drinking could’ve done with some more aging, but they kept downing so much of it that the next batch never got the chance to mature. Something about having two co-commanders constantly at each other’s throats tended to drive all the officers to drowning their sorrows in whatever was available, and the ship whiskey was always available.

“Congratulations on breaking my record!” Mitaka recognized Phasma’s voice and took another healthy swig. No one had ever mentioned who held the previous record. She didn’t seem upset though.

“I’d offer to buy you a drink to make up for it, but it looks like you’re already set.” 

“You get the next round, and I’ll cover the one after that?”

Damn his voice for squeaking at the end, turning the sentence into a question. 

“That sounds like a plan.” 

Winking, she downed what was left in her glass in one gulp and waved at the bartendroid. It was going to be like that, was it? Good thing he’d had the forethought to switch out shifts for tomorrow.

How they went from shots to arm wrestling, he had no idea. He also couldn’t figure out how that segued into hours of mind blowing sex, but when he woke up the next morning as the comically little big spoon in her bed, he found he didn’t care one bit. He also found the thought that she could pop his head like a melon with her powerful thighs just as exciting this morning as he had last night.

“This was fun. We should do it again,” was Phasma’s parting comment. He found himself in complete agreement.

When he slid into his chair on the command deck scant seconds before his shift began, Hux and Ren were at it again. 

“Do you know what set them off this time?” Thanisson hissed at him. He hunched over his console, shoulders slumped, trying to make himself as small as possible.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” he whispered back. And he didn’t, he realized. He didn’t know how long it would take for his co-commanders to pull their heads out of their asses (and hopefully put something else in), but in between rounds he and Phasma had worked out a few strategies to help them along. And if all their planning sessions turned out as pleasant as last night’s, he wouldn’t mind if it they didn’t see instant results. 

As Ren and Hux stomped back and forth along the walkway over their heads he hummed happily through his duties. Tonight, they’d pick which tactics to try first. And maybe there’d be a bit more arm wrestling.

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as some random thoughts I jotted down in a doc at about 1am in the morning several months ago:
> 
> \- phasma and mitaka accidental end up together because they keep commiserating over what blockheads their commanders are  
> \- they have a drink together and then another  
> \- "if they would only just kiss"  
> \- "yeah, kiss. instead of screaming and destroying things"  
> \- "you can tell they want to  
> \- "do you ever get the urge to just scream it out on the command deck?"  
> \- "not really, not after getting choked that one time"  
> \- and then they wake up in bed together the next morning, the end
> 
> And yes, I am ignoring the Phasma novel where it's stated that no one has ever seen her out of her armor.
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you want to say hi, [check out my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/profile) for where I’m currently hanging out on this here internet thing.


End file.
